#'all this makes sense' does it. does it really

[freakalot]

“satoru gojo if you don’t shut up i am banning you from sex for an entire year.” ☆

satoru frowns against your neck, where he tries hopelessly to stifle his own moans. he’s spooning you in a tangled mess of limbs and bedsheets, almost pathetic in his attempt to restrain himself. he feels like a hormonal teenager all over again.

“you know,” he half-whispers, half-moans into your ear. “i don’t think he’d care all that much if he woke up. i think he’s in love with you actually, i’d probably get to watch nanami kento beg on his knees to join us. ohh i like that idea actually, we should wake him—ah!”

you don’t know how else to quieten him down, so you reach behind you to pinch his side. all it does, really, is make him yelp and drive his cock even deeper into you, which makes you moan in turn.

you and satoru hadn’t had sex in so long, what with missions taking up so much time and the threat of societal collapse being somewhat of a libido-inhibitor. so when your joint mission with nanami ran over, and the higher-ups put you in a shared hotel room, satoru took opportunity as it struck. and you didn’t stop him.

now he’s balls deep inside of you as you lay facing the sculpted back of kento nanami. he’s laying with his back to you, breathing evenly in his sleep—each breath he takes pronounces the muscles of his back beneath the thin grey sleeping shirt he’s wearing. it does more to you than it should.

“you’re so fucking wet,” satoru whispers in your ear as his pace quickens. “what—you like this or something? being fucked five feet from nanami like this? hell, i like it. like showing you off. i'm like... sticking it to the man right now, babe.”

“he’s not even awake,” your eyes roll back as his tip brushes mean against your g-spot. satoru teases you with an open mouthed kiss to your neck, and then nips at the same spot.

"you sure, pretty?" he practically coos. "i think he's fighting for his fucking life right now. he was breathing like a monk until i mentioned him joining us."

you narrow your eyes at the sleeping man on the other bed. he's stilled and silent and obnoxiously toned and you swear you're getting wetter by the second and you also swear gojo can feel it because he's grinning against your shoulder like a fucking lunatic. you're about to brush him off, defend your coworker and friend and tell satoru to hurry up and make you cum so you can sleep when you see it: nanami shifts his hips.

it's so small of a movement that you might have imagined it, but you're too busy imagining how hard he must be to have to readjust like that. what must be going through his mind... listening to the two of you fuck like you're trying to get over something. he's either torturing himself with want right now or drafting up a letter to the higher ups in his head. maybe both.

"he's either awake," satoru reaches down and lifts your leg a little to reach sweet new depths inside of you. "or having the nastiest wet dream of his life."

something churns in your stomach, apprehension if you were a better person, and you part your lips to tell satoru to stop being an ass, but what comes out instead is a breathy moan so desperate it makes both men stiffen.

and nanami exhales. loudly. not in the sleeping man sense, this is choked out and heavy with something you don't dare name.

"oh nanamin," satoru sing-songs. "if you're going to cum in your boxers, come here and do it with a better view."

“satoru—” you hiss, mortified, melting at the same time, “stop—”

divine intervention is the only explanation. you must have some serious karma point stacked up and pocketed for a rainy day because, just as your breath hitches again, kento nanami is sitting up and planting his feet on the floor, eyes set dead on the two of you.

his pyjama pants are tight. when you let your gaze fall from his messy hair to the complete and visible outline of his hard cock, you think your heart stops. this is unseemly, and unprofessional, and everything that could be considered inappropriate. and if kento decides to walk out and complain, you and satoru are fucked, special grade status be damned.

“…you’re both ridiculous,” he says flatly, voice sandpapered. "this is wrong. abhorrent. foul."

he sounds exhausted. morally affronted. except his dick is so hard it must hurt and his eyes haven't once left where satoru's cock disappears inside of you. his gaze is heavy on you like a second set of hands. it's ungodly. you feel blasphemous, like maybe if nanami just looks at you a little longer you'd cum from that alone.

satoru thrusts deeper into you, but speaks to nanami. "you're hard."

"and you're loud." nanami exhales slowly, like he's giving himself a full ten-count to resist the urge to murder or run or maybe both. then he stands, finally meets your eyes, and softens his gaze a little. "you want this?"

your body answers for you, hips rolling back and pushing yourself deeper on satoru's cock. your thigh trembles where gojo holds it up and your voice comes out breathless and wrecked. "yes."

satoru groans, of course, and makes a show of squeezing one of your boobs in his hand. nanami doesn’t even look at him. doesn’t need to. his attention is all on you now, laser-focused and reverent like you’re a fucking sacrament. he reaches for your jaw, guiding your face up until your lips part just from the force of his presence.

“good,” he murmurs. “because i’m going to fuck you, both of you, until i can think straight again—and if i have to hear your voice even once during it, satoru, i will be gagging you."

your heart-eyed boyfriend cums inside of you at the implication alone.

and that is how you end up on your hands and knees in a twin hotel room in the dead hours of the night. kento nanami fucks his cum back inside of you for the second time that night, fingers digging so tightly into the fat of your ass that you don't doubt satoru will be teasings the marks left behind for days to come.

you splay your fingers over your boyfriends thighs, which is the only touch he's been granted since cumming inside of you. you stare up at him, he's got lidded eyes and this desperate look on his face as he watches nanami fuck you from behind, each thrust pushing your face just that little bit closer to his painfully hard cock.

though he can't complain, not with nanami's tie rolled up and stuck between his teeth. he tries, though, guttural moans and half-discernible pleads for more can hardly be heard over the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

you don't know why you never thought of satoru as a cuck. oddly, he's the type. still, that pretty look of desperation on his face is enough to have you squeezing around nanami's fat cock.

"settle down, gojo," nanami chides, squeezing your ass as if your boyfriend could feel it. "you're taking me next."

[luveline]

hey babe can I request Hotch with a reader girlfriend who’s desperately shy? early seasons hotch please when he’s still smiley (maybe still has Jack tho), i would love to see how he treats a long term girlfriend in your eyes one who he’s just completely gone for 

fem, 0.9k

You should know better than to come to work without venturing up to Aaron’s private office, but you’re late coming in and there’s a ton of stuff to do and he’s supposed to pretend that he cares when you turn in your work late. You log in and start going through things slowly. There are a few emails to respond to, some queries, a consult request Aaron himself has forwarded with a note —your expertise is required. 

You wiggle your mouse to wake the screen. You hadn’t realised you’d gotten stuck until it was dark. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” someone murmurs, tipping your head back to kiss your cheek, “where have you been?” 

He speaks quietly, no one else can hear him, but he enthuses his tone with so much love that you can’t decide between laughter or tears. You turn breathless instead, a thumb against your throat as Aaron’s loving questioning continues, “I thought we talked about this, hmm? You coming up to see me? How else am I supposed to know that you’re here?” 

There’s no Emily sitting at the desk opposite yours. No Spencer adjacent, no Derek to the right. It explains why he’s butter soft, but not his worry. 

“I was nearly late. I’m sorry.” 

He starts to kiss you gently, quietly, his lips tracking over the side of your cheek and pressing in as he goes until his nose is against your temple. “Don’t be sorry, I just wanted to see you.” He holds you to him. “I missed you.”

“Are you okay?” you ask, wishing you were brave enough to tack handsome, or love on the end. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I thought maybe you were still stressed about Emily.” 

Aaron pulls away, giving you your first proper look at him that morning. He’s as handsome as ever. It makes your chest spike with anxiety. You worry all the time that you’ll lose him; the thought that he might realise all the things you’re missing and break things off is a constant at the back of your mind. It only ever goes quiet when he’s kissing you. “Prentiss has done well so far,” he says. “I’m not happy to have things rearranged above my head, but I have no problem with Emily. Now, how was your morning?” 

“It was fine.” 

“I want to know. Breakfast?” 

“Yeah, oatmeal.” 

He grins. “Me too.” 

Nobody would ever believe that this is your boyfriend when he’s commanding a room during a profile, or apprehending an UnSub with his impassive, furrowed brow. You assumed it was the honeymoon phase at first. It’s not like his affection makes much sense, but if he’s not stressed, it just means he loves you, which is nice. You hold the back of your hand to his cheek, laughing in a shock when he turns his face and traps it between his cheek and his shoulder. 

“No more late mornings,” he says decisively. 

“I wasn’t technically late. I wasn’t early enough to come up to see you, is all. Are you upset I didn’t bring you your coffee?” 

“Is that what you think?” he asks, smiling as he kisses your wrist, before straightening. You let your hand fall and he catches it on the way down. 

“I don’t know. You’re much too touchy. I’m trying to deduce why, but…” 

“Profile me,” Aaron says. He gives your hand a squeeze. “You know how to do it, honey. Figure out my motive from my past behaviours.” 

Aaron’s only ever this sweet on you when you’re in his bed. Well, ‘only ever’ is harsh, but he’s never not sweet on you in the afterglow. And that’s because intimacy is a constant reminder of how close you really are to one another, why he loves you, and why you love him. So perhaps he’s being sweet on you because you’ve reminded him how loved he is? But it doesn’t make much sense. You forgot his coffee.

Your stomach goes warm. “Oh. Oh,” you say, “I called you last night.” 

“You did.” 

“I was tired.” 

“But you were beautiful,” he says, and what does that mean? It’s not as though he could see your face. “I can’t remember the last time you were like that. Not since we were in Helena.”

You can’t remember it clearly. Threads of what you’d said come back to you slowly. Love you, my sweetheart, my Aaron. Can you come over? I know it’s late, I need to see you. You were too tired to function, let alone call someone, and yet. 

Your face is on fire. 

“Sorry I couldn’t come over, honey,” he says, chucking you under the chin with a curled finger. “I would’ve, I promise, but I had Jack until we swapped this morning.”

You go hot all over. “No, I know. It’s fine, I shouldn’t have called you–”

“Who says you can’t call me?” 

“Nobody, but I shouldn’t have.”

“You can call me anytime you want.” He tips your chin up. “Quick, Spencer’ll have finished what I asked him to do soon. Can I kiss you?” 

“I forgot it was your day for Jack–”

He takes your face into his hand. “Doesn’t matter, honey. Kiss?” 

You close your eyes and lift your chin. Ever your prince, Aaron squeezes your cheek gently and leans in to kiss you, far warmer than you’re expecting, his thumb rubbing over your cheek with a reverence he couldn't fake if he wanted to. 

[starl1ght444]

jason todd x reader

── .✦ fluff

[ jason admiring you at a family barbecue, catching baby fever ]

[ 4k word count ]

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

the sun sits gentle in the sky, soft gold washing over the green lawns of wayne manor. it’s the kind of day that feels like it was carved out of a dream—blue skies, laughter echoing through the gardens, the scent of grilled food riding warm breezes. someone’s playing music from a bluetooth speaker—something summery and old-school—and kids are running barefoot over the grass with juice-stained smiles.

you’re standing on the back patio, watching as your dad and bruce try to out-barbecue each other. there’s a mountain of food already stacked high on one table, and another being filled with cold drinks and desserts brought by both sides of the family. it’s not a holiday, not a birthday—just a weekend that seemed perfect for something soft and good.

jason finds you like he always does. like his compass only points to you. he slides up beside you with a drink in one hand, the other immediately brushing against your lower back like he can’t help it. he leans in, kisses your temple without even saying hi, and you smile.

“you smell like smoke and sunscreen,” you murmur, teasing gently. — he grins against your skin. “you say that like it’s not my most attractive combo.”

you glance at him. he’s wearing a plain white tee, sleeves rolled just enough to make your stomach flip, and a backwards baseball cap that he stole from dick earlier. his smile is easy, bright—one of the rare kinds you only get on days like this, when nothing hurts and everything feels safe.

“you having fun?” you ask. — “yeah,” he says, looking out over the lawn. “it’s weird. not used to this many people being this… happy. all at once.”

you nudge him playfully with your shoulder. “that’s the whole point, jay. just good vibes today. no patrols. no emergencies. just your family and mine, stuffing their faces and pretending they’re not competitive as hell.”

he laughs. “i saw your aunt arm-wrestling alfred. i’m afraid to ask who won.” — “don’t,” you whisper dramatically. “it’s a sensitive topic.”

you both laugh, and then you fall into a comfortable silence, leaning into each other. there’s something easy in the way you fit together, like puzzle pieces that just… make sense. and even though the day is just beginning, jason already feels something new blooming in his chest. soft. slow. a warmth he can’t name yet.

then, you get pulled away.

your sister’s baby, a sweet baby girl— barely a year old— is in a fit of giggles and reaches for you as soon as she spots you. you don’t hesitate. you scoop her up, nuzzle into her cheek with a bright laugh, and she squeals in delight. jason watches, something catching in his throat that he doesn’t fully understand.

you hold your niece like it’s second nature, hips swaying slightly as you bounce her. you tickle her ribs until she squeaks, then press a kiss to the crown of her head. she clutches at your shirt with chubby fingers, and you don’t even seem to notice how natural it looks.

jason notices

he watches you sink to the grass with her, both of you barefoot and smiling. the babygirl crawls all over you, laughing like you’re the best jungle gym she’s ever seen. you laugh, too—head thrown back, hair catching the light, eyes crinkled in pure joy. and suddenly, there’s a slow ache in jason’s chest.

he’s never thought about it before. not really. the whole kid thing. the whole… family thing.

he’s always been the kind of man who saw himself on the sidelines of that world. the one who sends birthday gifts but doesn’t show up to the party. the one who says “uncle jay” and brings the cool toys but leaves before bedtime stories.

but watching you like this—hands soft, voice sweeter than he’s ever heard it—something shifts. something opens. he thinks about you with a baby that’s yours. his.

a little mess of dark hair and your eyes, giggling just like your niece is now. he thinks about you holding them, soothing them, loving them the way you love everything. he thinks about tiny socks and bedtime songs and learning how to braid hair or teach someone how to ride a bike. and he doesn’t feel afraid.

he feels something else. — a need. — a want.

he blinks, heart hammering like he just ran a sprint. it’s new. it’s overwhelming. and it’s entirely because of the way you look right now, sitting in the grass with a baby curled against your chest, humming something soft as you rock her gently.

“oh, shit,” he whispers under his breath.

you glance up, like you felt him watching you. your smile is soft. inviting. you tilt your head and wave him over.

he doesn’t think—just goes.

you don’t even have to ask. when you pat the grass beside you, jason’s already lowering himself down with a groan that’s mostly exaggerated, even though he makes a show of cracking his knees. “god, i’m getting old,” he mutters, shooting you a playful glance.

your niece immediately perks up at the sight of him. she blinks those wide baby eyes and then grins—huge and gummy—and points at him with all the excitement in the world.

“dat!” she squeals. you laugh, warm and real, looking between her and jason. “that is not your dad, little lady. that’s jason.”

she doesn’t care. she clambers right onto his lap like it’s the most obvious place to be. jason freezes. his eyes go wide like she’s a lit stick of dynamite, and you watch as he carefully, so carefully, adjusts his hands to steady her. he looks at you like he needs instruction, a manual, a lifeline.

you just smile. “you’re doing fine sweetheart.”

he swallows, then looks down at her. she’s patting his chest with both palms, babbling nonsense with the kind of confidence only babies can get away with. she tugs at the collar of his shirt, pokes his cheek, then leans forward to bonk her forehead lightly against his. he blinks.

“uh… hi?” he says softly. you bite back a grin.

she squeals again and snuggles in like he’s the comfiest spot in the whole wide world. one tiny hand clings to his shirt. the other reaches up and gently touches the brim of his cap.

jason goes absolutely still.

you watch the exact moment his heart breaks open. it’s subtle—just a shift in his expression, the way his arms curl instinctively around her like he’s afraid to let her go now. his voice drops into something even softer.

“you like me, huh?” your niece, as if understanding, lets out a happy coo and rests her cheek against his shoulder. you’re not sure you’ve ever seen jason todd speechless.

he looks at you over her head, and for once, there’s no witty comeback. no smirk. just awe. you can almost hear the thoughts racing behind his eyes. he rocks her slightly, like he’s testing the motion, and when she settles, sighing in contentment, he smiles. — a real one. — quiet. tender. completely unguarded.

your chest pulls tight. “she likes you,” you say quietly. “a lot.”

jason glances down at her again, brushing one hand over the back of her little head. “yeah,” he says, voice rough. “i like her, too.” — and he means it.

he doesn’t know how to explain what’s happening inside him—how just ten minutes ago, the idea of holding a baby seemed like a distant maybe in a far-off future, and now he can’t imagine letting this little bundle go. she fits against him like she belongs there. like he was made for this in a way he never considered.

you lean your head on his shoulder. “you’re a natural, jay.”

“i don’t know what i’m doing.”

“you don’t have to. she trusts you. that’s enough.”

he doesn’t say anything for a minute. just holds her. breathes. lets it sink in. his heart has been through war. it’s been broken, stitched together, burned down, and rebuilt more times than he can count. he’s spent years convincing himself that love like this—soft, slow, steady—wasn’t for him.

but here you are, curled beside him in the grass. and here she is, asleep on his chest. and here he is, completely and utterly undone. — he wants this.

maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but someday.

he wants little hands and big hearts and quiet afternoons like this. he wants tiny sneakers by the door and messy drawings taped to the fridge. he wants the life he thought he’d never deserve, because you make it feel possible.

you glance up at him and find his eyes already on you. “you okay?” you ask.

he nods. “yeah. just… didn’t expect this.”

“what? a baby nap attack?”

he shakes his head. “no. this… feeling.”

you smile, soft and knowing. you thread your fingers through his where they rest on the grass. “it’s okay, you know,” you whisper. “to want things.”

he squeezes your hand. “you’d be a really good dad,” you say, almost like it’s a secret. “one day.”

jason doesn’t answer right away. he just looks down at your niece again, sleeping so soundly on his chest, and something in him settles.

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

the sun starts to dip low in the sky, painting the world in honey. that soft hour between afternoon and evening when everything feels a little more tender. the grills have been turned off, the music turned down, and the lawn scattered with half-empty cups and abandoned shoes from kids who always manage to lose one.

you and jason walking, this time near the big round table where dick and tim are already lounging, paper plates balanced on their laps. stephanie is there too, smiling, peeling grapes for herself like a queen, while damian pokes at a pile of roasted vegetables with an expression of deep suspicion.

you plop down with a plate of grilled chicken, a caesar salad and some fruit salad aswell. jason’s got two burgers stacked high and a lemonade that you swear is more sugar than anything else. he’s still got some baby drool on his shoulder and hasn’t noticed yet. — you don’t tell him.

instead, you nudge your knee against his and start eating, leaning just a little into his side. he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shift—just stays steady. solid. warm.

“so,” dick says with a grin, looking pointedly at jason, “when were you gonna tell us you had a kid?”

jason chokes on a bite of burger, coughing into his elbow while you burst out laughing. he shoots dick a glare, wiping his mouth. “very funny.”

“no, seriously,” tim chimes in, smirking. “i thought that baby was yours. the way she was clinging to you? textbook toddler imprinting.”

stephanie hums. “she liked him.”

“clearly,” damian mutters. “he was the only one she didn’t scream at.”

you grin, glancing sideways at jason. “she does have good taste.” he mumbles something into his burger and keeps his eyes on his plate, but his ears are pink.

dick leans forward on his elbows, teasing grin still firmly in place. “you ever think about it, jay?”

jason pauses. you hold your breath. he shrugs, then glances at you. just for a second. then back at his plate.

“i dunno,” he says quietly. “today kind of made it hard not to.”

the table goes quiet for a beat—not awkward, just thoughtful.

you rest your hand on his thigh under the table, give it a squeeze. he covers it with his own without looking, thumb brushing slow across your knuckles. it says more than words ever could.

then, as if summoned by the power of chaos and barbecue sauce, a group of kids comes barreling toward your little circle.

there are four of them—your younger cousins plus, the neighbor kid alfred watches sometimes. they’re sticky and sun-kissed and full of energy they absolutely should not still have.

“jason!” one of the older boys shouts, skidding to a stop in front of him. “can you play tag with us? please? we need someone fast!”

“yeah!” another chimes in. “you look like you’d be really good at it!”

jason blinks, halfway through another bite. “uh—”

“pleeeaaaase?” they all whine in unison. steph giggles behind her hand. tim’s already pulling out his phone to film this. even damian looks vaguely amused. you nudge jason again, smirking. “come on, tough guy. they’ve challenged your honor.”

he groans, tipping his head back like he’s praying for strength. “you’re all monsters.” but he sets his plate down anyway. stands up. brushes his hands off on his jeans.

“all right, gremlins,” he says, cracking his knuckles. “you asked for it.” the kids scream in delight and scatter.

you watch, heart full and aching, as jason takes off after them with a grin that makes him look years younger. he’s surprisingly agile for someone full of burgers, weaving between kids and dodging tiny arms like a seasoned pro. he scoops one up over his shoulder, spins them until they squeal, then sets them down gently.

you can’t stop smiling. “he’s a goner,” dick says beside you, voice warm with something like pride.

you nod, eyes never leaving jason. “yeah. he is.”

“you know,” steph says, “he’s softer with you than i’ve ever seen.” you swallow around the knot in your throat.

“i feel like he’s starting to let himself want this,” you say softly. “really want it.”

tim smiles. “about time.” you finish your plate, set it aside, and watch as jason lets the smallest kid tackle him dramatically to the ground. they all pile on after that, laughing and shouting, and he just lays there, pretending to be defeated.

he catches your eye across the lawn, still buried under a dogpile of kids, and winks. you think your heart might actually burst.

cass, duke and barb start making their way over, everyone making room for eachother even if it is a little tight. “man jason is getting beat out there” duke laughed taking a drink of water.

you don’t last long on the sidelines.

as soon as you see jason get swarmed by kids and give in with the most exaggerated groan of defeat, your legs are already moving. you drop your plate off at the table, kick off your sandals, and make a run for it across the grass.

“hey!” you shout, cupping your hands around your mouth. “what’s this i hear about a tag game with no rules?”

jason sits up, eyes lighting up the moment he sees you. he lifts an arm like he’s going to catch you when you get close. “you sure you can handle this?” he calls. “these kids are relentless.”

you smirk. “so am i.” the second you’re close enough, one of your cousins tags you with a high-pitched “you’re it!” and bolts away shrieking. — and that’s all it takes.

soon, you’re both running wild with the kids—ducking and dodging and laughing so hard your stomach hurts. jason’s just as competitive as you expected, blocking kids for you and taking fake dives when someone “catches” him. at one point, you tackle him into the grass, both of you breathless and tangled up, and he’s laughing—really laughing, head thrown back, eyes crinkled at the corners.

you think you might be in love with every version of him. eventually, the chaos slows. kids drop off one by one, panting and grinning, collapsing on picnic blankets or into folding chairs with cold juice boxes pressed to their faces. you and jason end up near the big patio table again, sweaty and flushed and glowing with joy.

that’s where you find the adults and half of your side of the family.

your parents are sitting with bruce and alfred, a mix of lemonade and wine glasses on the table between them. the grown-ups have that relaxed energy that only comes after a full meal, a successful gathering, and nothing left to do but watch.

“you two looked like you were having fun,” your mom says, smiling fondly. — “we were,” you reply, still catching your breath. jason lingers behind you, a quiet shadow at your back.

“you’re good with kids, jason,” your dad says, and it’s not just polite—he means it. there’s a note of surprise and respect in his voice.

jason rubs the back of his neck. “they’re good with me. i think they sense that i was once a menace, too.” — everyone laughs.

even bruce looks slightly amused, eyes soft as he watches jason from behind his glass. alfred, always the most composed, nods. “you have a calming presence with the younger ones. despite your… usual demeanor.”

“i’ll take that as a compliment,” jason mutters.

just then, your sister approaches with your baby niece balanced on one hip. the little one looks sleepy and bashful now, her curls a bit messy, thumb in her mouth. “she’s been looking around for someone,” your sister says, eyes twinkling. “pretty sure i know who.”

the sweet babygirl blinks once… twice… then holds her arms out, very clearly and very purposefully, toward jason.

he freezes. — the whole table watches as he steps forward, gentle and quiet, and reaches for her. she practically melts into him as he lifts her into his arms again, head tucking under his chin like that’s where she belongs. jason holds her like he never wants to let go.

you can feel it from where you’re standing—that shift in the air. like everyone around you sees something unspoken settle into place. like puzzle pieces clicking in without anyone needing to name them. “she doesn’t do that for just anyone,” your sister says softly.

jason presses a kiss to the top of rosie’s head, one hand running along her back in slow, comforting circles. “she’s got good instincts,” he says, and it’s half a joke, half a truth he hasn’t quite let himself feel until now.

your mom and dad share a look you can’t quite read, something soft and knowing between them. bruce smiles faintly behind his glass. alfred gives you the barest nod, like he sees it too.

you walk back over and stand beside jason, brushing a curl out of the baby’s face. “she’s got you wrapped around her tiny little finger,” you whisper.

jason huffs out a quiet laugh. “yeah. i’m in deep.” — you lean against his arm, heart full. and in this moment, with your family and his all gathered around, with the sun casting golden light over the lawn and your niece tucked safely against his chest, you realize you’ve never felt more at home.

and jason? — jason’s realizing something too. he doesn’t just want to be a part of this someday.

he wants this. with you.

the backyard gets quieter as the sun sinks behind the trees, painting the sky in soft lilacs and golds. kids have all been rounded up, shoes found, goodbyes whispered through tired yawns. the grill’s cold now, the music little more than a low hum in the background. you watch your mom hug cass, your dad laughing at something dick says, and the rest of the evening melts into a kind of dreamy haze.

babygirl is curled up in jason’s arms again, barely awake, tiny fingers tangled in his shirt. your sister and brother in law approaches with an apologetic smile.

“let me take her in, jay,” she says softly. “you’ve done more than enough.”

jason doesn’t look ready to let go. but he nods, brushing one more kiss over the crown of the baby’s head before carefully passing her off. “she’s perfect,” he murmurs.

“so were you,” your brother in law says holding his daughter. the baby shyly smiling, making jason wave bye, you blowing a kiss.

a few minutes later, most of the family is saying their goodbyes. the waynes linger, always the last to leave, and you stand off to the side with jason as your parents pack up their cooler. your fingers are laced with his, and he hasn’t let go once.

“you wanna go for a walk?” you ask quietly, once the yard is nearly empty.

jason nods, gentle eyes on you. “yeah. i’d like that.”

you walk in slow steps across the grass, barefoot, side by side under the darkening sky. there’s that soft hum of crickets starting, the scent of charcoal and lemonade still floating in the air. everything feels still. for a while, neither of you says anything.

then, jason breaks the quiet with a voice so soft it almost gets lost in the breeze. “i didn’t think i’d be good at it.”

you glance over. “what?”

“any of it,” he says. “kids. the whole… warm and safe thing. didn’t think i had it in me.” — your heart tugs

“but you do,” you say, gently. “i saw it today. everyone did.”

he looks at you, and the weight of the day sits in his chest like something holy. “when she fell asleep on me… i didn’t wanna move. like, ever.”

you smile, stepping closer. “you didn’t have to. she was right where she wanted to be.”

jason stops walking. his hand slips out of yours only so he can cup your face instead, thumb brushing your cheek like he’s memorizing you. like he already has, but needs to do it again just in case.

“i never thought about it before. like—really thought. what it might be like… to have a little girl with your eyes, your laugh. a kid who knows nothing but love.”

your breath catches. — “but today… watching you hold her watching you smile at those kids… it just—something clicked.”

you rest your forehead against his. “yeah?”

“yeah.” his voice is quiet. certain. like a promise.

“it scared me,” he admits. “but in a good way. like… like maybe i finally want something real. something i never let myself imagine.”

you curl your fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “you can have it, jason. you deserve it.”

he laughs softly. “do i, though?”

“absolutely.” he kisses you then, slow and warm and deep like he means it. like everything he’s feeling today is pouring out through that one perfect moment. the kind of kiss that tastes like sunlight and cotton candy and something brand new being born right in your chest.

when you finally pull back, he still looks dazed. “i think,” he says, clearing his throat, “i’ve got a little baby fever.”

you grin. “a little?”

“okay. a lot.” — you wrap your arms around his waist, leaning into him. “we don’t have to figure it all out now. we’ve got time.”

he rests his chin on top of your head. “yeah. but just so you know—i’m thinking maybe two.”

you look up, eyes wide. “two?”

“or three,” he says, smirking. “a little chaos. just enough to keep things interesting.”

you laugh, and it echoes across the empty lawn, bright and real. and as the stars come out one by one above you, jason todd holds you like the future is already here, folded gently into the arms of the person he loves most.

he never thought he’d want this. but now?

he can’t imagine wanting anything else.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

BONUS — ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

the sun’s almost gone now, just a sliver of orange on the edge of the horizon. the yard is quieter—paper plates stacked, folding chairs being packed up, empty cups tossed into bags. and for once, alfred’s not lifting a finger.

“sit, alfred,” bruce had insisted, nudging a chair under him like it was an order from the batcave. “we’ve got this.”

and so he sits, arms crossed, watching as the rest of the family—grown vigilantes and honorary siblings alike—start cleaning up what looks like the remains of a small festival.

“i feel like we’re one mariachi band away from calling this a wedding,” dick says, stuffing plastic forks into a bag while balancing a tray of leftover burgers on his hip.

“you mean a baby shower,” tim mutters, dragging a trash bag behind him. “give it a year.”

steph raises an eyebrow, looking amused. “a year? you’re being generous.”

damian states “my money’s on six months. tops. did you see the way jason was holding that baby?”

“like she was made of gold,” dick agrees, dropping the tray on the patio table. “he was glowing.”

“i’ve never seen him smile like that,” tim adds. “like… actually smile.”

“we should start a pool,” duke says, hands clapping together. “fifty bucks, winner takes all.”

“i’m in,” barb says, cass nodding, already pulling her phone out. “my bet: christmas announcement.”

bruce, who’s been quietly gathering napkins from the lawn, clears his throat. everyone turns. “new year’s,” he says calmly, straightening up. “and i think i’ll be a good grandpa.”

a pause. — then all of them lose it—laughing, shouting over each other, mock gasping like bruce just admitted to watching daytime soaps. “you can’t just drop that!” dick yells, pointing. “you want grandkids?”

“i’d like to think jason’s happy,” bruce replies, folding another chair with ease. “and if he is… i’ll be happy, too.”

cass nods slowly, like it makes perfect sense, barb saying “you’d be a good grandpa. quiet. dramatic.”

steph’s cackling. “and rich!”

“what are you all talking about?” jason calls from across the lawn, finally reappearing with you tucked into his side, both of you glowing in that soft post-chaos calm.

the group goes still. then dick turns around and whistles casually. “nothing. just cleaning up.”

you squint suspiciously. “you’re all acting weird.”

“what else is new?” jason mutters, tugging you closer.

as you both disappear inside to help pack up leftovers, the family watches you go. and bruce, standing at the edge of the patio, just smiles to himself.

maybe soon. — maybe not.

but when it happens, he’ll be ready.

even if that means learning how to baby-proof the manor.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

i love writing sweet moments for jason ☹️ he deserves them!!

i wanna write a part two soon!! this was one of my favorites stories i’ve wrote so far. :3 i love writing jason being expressive and openly sweet— because it’s something you don’t see alot, and for good reason. he’s been through soooo much!!

i enjoy writing angst don’t get me wrong, but fluff i think is more my territory! :3 tell me if you’d like a part two!!

lmk if you’d like more angst stories — or more smut — or more fluff :)

also DM’s are always open <3

[astars-things]

Hate and comfort

Lando norris x reader

Summary- where y/n joins quadrant athletes and gets hated on because people only think she got in because Lando is her boyfriend. (Mix of Insta edits, written and tweets, also please lmk if you like me adding the tweets or not, in my inbox or comments )

*I don't own any of these photos they are from pinterest

Liked by @.maxfewtrell @.Landonorris and others

@.Quadrant Please welcome the newest adrenaline junkie to the team Y/n. Y/n has been a part of the Nitro circus for 4 years, pulling off world-class stunts and we can't wait to see what she can bring to the team.

tagged @.Y/n.L/n

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@.Hater Wait so she does flips in the air and we’re calling her an athlete?? be serious.

@.hater2 Nepotism wins again 💅

@.maxfewtrell welcome to the team y/n/n

@.Hater3 I just unsubscribed

@.Y/n.L/n Thank you for signing me 💚

→ @.Hater4 SLUT

You laid in your hotel bed, tears rolling down your face as you read the comments, you have had your fair share of hate. Being a woman in a male-dominated sport you were judged, if you cried you were over sensitive, if you have male friends you're a slut, If you celebrated, you were cocky and the list goes on. But this was different.

What made it all harder was the fact that you were completely alone. Melbourne was another stop on tour with Nitro Circus, just another city, another crowd. You were 10,000 miles away from your family and friends, the people who had stood trackside in the pouring rain just to see you land your first flip. You were 8,000 miles away from Lando, the one person who could make the noise fade with just a look, the only one who knew how to hold you when the world got too loud.

Your relationship had only been going on for about a year, you both had made a decision not to go public, with all his crazy fan girls and the media, it would have just torn you two apart. Seeing all the comments on the new quadrant post made your brain go into overtime with thoughts filling your head 

Was Lando really worth the pain? Do I say anything? 

Just as your head was filling with more thoughts, you heard your phone buzz from where you had just dropped it 

Lando 🧡 Love, I know you are seeing the comments 

Lando 🧡  I wish more than anything i could be there right now just to pull the phone out of your hands and remind you who the fuck you are

Read

You turned your head to the side to read the clock that was beside your hotel bed, and when it read 1 am, you let out a sigh and opened up your F1 app so you could watch the Saudi Arabian race. For the first time that night, you smiled, watching Lando go from p10 to p4. You watched the podium celebration before putting your phone on charge and going to sleep, dreading what you were going to face tomorrow

That morning when you woke up your phone was just flooded with notification and it overwhelmed you, so you messaged your trainer and some of the staff letting them know you were turning off your phone, once the messages were sent you turned off your phone with a heavy sigh and got your head in the game.

You just had to get through practice tonight and the show tomorrow, and just a few more stops of the Australian leg of the tour. Then you can fly back home and be with your family and support system. The ones who didn’t question your worth or weigh your success against who you were dating.

What you didn't know was that Lando was currently on a plane to you. Rushing through the media of the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. To then fly to Melbourne to hold you. (I know the timeline doesn't make sense, but this is fiction, not real life so just go with it)

Lando had messaged the team asking if they could help surprise you. Lando had given them a rundown of the situation and the plan of action. Luck was on Landos' side tonight, his plane landed an hour before practice was scheduled to finish, which meant he had enough time to quickly get your hotel room card from your trainer, have a shower, get some food for both of you and get some other essentials.

Lando sat on the edge of the hotel bed, waiting for you. Your trainer had sent Lando a message saying you were on your way up to the hotel room. Lando was mentally freaking out he wanted everything to be perfect, he could hear your voice from outside the door and so he stood up holding the flowers he got on his way to the hotel and stood there waiting for you to enter the room

You let out a slow breath, shoulders heavy with exhaustion, your mind already shutting down from the day. The door clicked open, and you pushed it gently, stepping inside. That's when you froze, your mouth wide open from shock, Lando is here like right in front of me, you thought, still not being able to let any words out

His voice was soft. "Hey, love." Before your mind could process what was happening, your body made its way to Lando. He held you with so much love. "I’ve got you," he whispered after a moment, lips brushing the top of your head. "I’m right here. Let it out, love."

Liked by @.Y/n.L/n @.Quadrant and others

@.Landonorris 8,000 miles. 18-hour flight. I would do it 100 times over again just for you...when you love someone as much as I love y/n, you’ll do whatever it takes to show up. I didn't travel across the Indian Ocean just to stay quiet 🧡

We have only been dating for a year, and y/n has been doing Nitro Circus for 4 years. Y/n is not here because of me she’s here because she’s damn good at what she does and I'm happy to be her wag and show the world how amazing she is.

So, to whoever this may concern kindly fuck off with your hate comments!

Tagged @.Y/n.L/n

View comments

@.maxfewtrell Damn y/n you really are lucky Lando wouldn't do that for me 🥲

@.user Lando is really the definition of "if he wanted to he would"

→@.Landonorris damn right I am

@.danielricciardo mate said 🏎️🏁✈️🏃‍♂️‍➡️🫂💥

*liked by @.Y/n.L/n and others

@.Quadrant Say it louder for the haters in the back 🧡

@.McLaren Well said, Lando. We stand with Y/N always.

Lando sat in the stands, with a Nitro hoodie, black jeans, with his white Air Forces on, he had a special surprise just for you, he’d been holding onto since landing in Melbourne. He just needed the perfect moment. Before the show, the team had asked if it was alright to feature him in the crowd during your performance you replied with "yeah sure fuck it"

You had your helmet, full gear on, and adrenaline pulsing through your veins, just waiting for the signal from the staff to announce you and the rest of the dirt bike crew. Once you got the signal, you rode out of the tunnel, riding up the ramp. In one fluid motion, you launched into the air, legs stretched behind you in a perfect Superman pose, landing clean like it was second nature.

The crowd was in chaos with all the cheering. You looked up at the jumbotron to see your boyfriend Lando with his hoodie lifted up to show off the t-shirt he was wearing,

Which was a black t-shirt with "Y/ns' #1 WAG" printed on with white writing, you stopped for a moment, your cheeks going red under your helmet, and soon you let out a little laugh.

Once the show was done, you made your way to the fan zone, quickly signing as much as you could before making your way to where Lando had been standing. Lando picked you up effortlessly, you wrapped your legs around his waist, and wasted no time in pulling him into a kiss

"You were amazing out there," Lando murmured, his voice full of admiration, his arms tight around you. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, your lips curling into a soft smile. "Thank you for showing up", You spoke with tears welling up in your eyes

"Like I said in my Instagram post, I would do it 100 times over again just for you", Lando said with nothing but love in his eyes placing another kiss to your lips. This was where you belonged, right here, in his arms

@.Y/n.L/n posted on her story

🎵Lover by Taylor Swift

please reblog and like 🫶

I think this is my favorite fic I've written so far...also, if you would like a pt2 or for me to turn this into an au in the future, please lmk in the comments or my inbox

[demonic0angel]

Danny: Wes, buddy

Wes: go way

Jazz: we're just- are you okay?

Wes:....

.......

Wes: Steph broke up with me

everyone: What happened?

Wes: dont know. everything was going fine. we were about to sign a lease and move in together, and then bam, she hit me with a break up

Jazz: ah Wes

Wes: T-T I still love her

Dani: Im calling Tim he'll get to the bottom of this.

*two phone calls later*

Dani: so I got some news from Tim. So you know how Steph father is a criminal?

Wes: yeah he's Cluemater, but why does that matter, Steph is no contact with him.

Dani: well he got in contact with her and threatened to put a hit out on you if she didn't come help

Jazz facepalming: so she's doing the stupid "break up with SO to keep them safe" thing

Dani: yep,

Danny: I sense much groveling from her in the future

Dani: it'll probably happen sooner than later. Steph was at Dicks place when Tim confronted her and Dan overheard the conversation and, well, he's now 'helping'

(Omg how’d you know that I was thinking ab them??

I also adjusted the ask a little bc I lowkey started writing before I finished reading, and I really don’t want to change what I wrote.)

Wes put his head in his hands with a low moan of despair.

Jazz patted his back. Danny hummed, stroking his beardless chin as he then laughed to himself. “Reminds me of Val. She also broke up with me to protect me. Against myself.”

Dani kicked his shin. “Yeah, because she loved you, you asshole!” She turned to Wes and asked, “So what are you going to do now? I can ask Tim to do some more digging, but I’m pretty sure he feels like she’s right…. Probably because they’re all taught by the same crazy person.”

“Batman,” Wes, Jazz, and Danny all said in unison, sounding exasperated. Dani nodded solemnly.

Wes sighed deeply. “This is why I hate heroes.”

“Amen,” Dan smirked.

“Wes! Dan!” Jazz scolded, ever the hero-admirer.

Danny shrugged a little and offered gently, “I mean… I think you should talk to her first. As a hero, the one thing we hate more than our nemeses is our loved ones getting hurt. She was probably going to make a plan to keep you safe and get rid of Cluemaster at the same time while you two were broken up. It’s not like she knew you could defend yourself or that you had us to protect you either. It’s your choice, but honestly… cut her some slack.”

“I was going to, anyways,” Wes grumbled. “She wanted to protect me, and I won’t punish her for that. Even if she thinks I’m some sort of defenseless, stupid civilian.”

“Well….” Dani said and she and Danny shared an amused look before bursting into laughter. Wes rolled his eyes as Jazz gave an amused huff. Dan just crossed his arms and looked at Wes with a bored look.

“If you want, we could take care of Cluemaster,” Dan said. “You should talk to her and then hopefully resolve this.”

Everyone looked at him with vaguely impressed expressions. Jazz was a tad teary as she said, “Oh, Danny, I’m so proud of you! Actually offering something altruistic! Oh, you’re growing up!”

“I’m already grown up!” Dan snarled, bristling with a green tinge to his cheeks. “I’m 8 years older than you!”

“My little brother’s growing up and being nice!” Jazz gushed, pulling him into a hug as he scowled and ground his fangs together.

Danny and Dani burst into laughter again and even Wes couldn’t help but chuckle. He relaxed as the siblings all bantered and had fun, leaving him a moment of quiet amidst the oddly soothing noise to think about what to do.

Stephanie had definitely panicked and tried to handle everything on her own, but even if it pissed him off how she made that decision on her own and left him behind in the dust, he was determined to have her back. As a plan began to formulate in his head, Wes nodded to himself.

No one was going to stand in the way between him and Steph. Especially not another deadbeat dad!

[rillils]

but you know what really gets to me? how deeply and instinctively steve associates bucky with solace. with love. with mutual devotion.

he sees bucky again for the first time since 1945, standing on the business end of a gun, and through the pain and shock of this earth-shattering revelation, what does he say? what is the only thought he keeps coming back to? "even when i had nothing, i had bucky." which is such a powerful and, and intimate line, it knocks the breath out of you.

he has a moment to himself to gather his thoughts, and where does his mind travel to? to the lowest point of his life. the day he had to bury the only parent he had ever known, and found himself entirely alone in the world. yet the focus of that memory isn't so much on steve's grief, as you would expect; it's rather on bucky's comforting presence, his support, his unconditional affection. it's bucky offering to be steve's home, both literally and figuratively, and reminding steve that this, this thing between them, it's forever, no matter what.

there's just, this unspoken but very palpable tenderness between them, that steve keeps calling back to throughout the movie.

even when bucky's actively shooting at him, stabbing him, punching him with all the superhuman strength in his arm, steve doesn't see a heartless killing machine that must be stopped. even beaten to a pulp and on his way to bleeding to death, when steve looks up at bucky, he only ever sees the boy who loved him. the boy he has loved his whole life.

and now, now bucky's the one who has nothing. bucky's been stripped of everything: his name, his humanity, his sense of self, his freedom, his past. his entire life. for the past 70 years, he has been nothing but a weapon passed from hand to hand, used and brutalized without remorse.

and steve walks into that helicarrier determined to show him that what bucky told him that day, all those years ago? it goes both ways. that even now that bucky's got nothing, he still has steve, even if bucky doesn't remember that yet.

steve takes his helmet off, and lets go of his shield, and lays himself bare to bucky's rage - makes himself vulnerable in every way he possibly can - to show bucky that no matter what, there is one person in this world who loves him, and always will. that he's not alone, not anymore. steve will never let that happen again, even if it costs him his own life.

like god, if that isn't tenderness, i don't know what is.

[dark-wackademia]

uh, "i just need to focus on myself right now, thanks for understanding", and then do that regardless of how they react because you deserve to take care of yourself.

also, controversial opinion: you really don't need to explain yourself to anyone, ESPECIALLY when you're in a place like this. babes, your first priority is to let go of that feeling of worrying how others will take you living your best life/feeling obligation to anyone but yourself in order to start living authentically to you and doing whatever you need to for yourself.

secondly: you can do that for maintaining a healthy state so that you don't reach this place too, like preventative medicine... people forget it's worth much more than the methods we enact once at a later stage with something that could have been perhaps avoided all together, if not lessened had we caught it earlier. something i wish more people really understood is that you don't need to be AT deaths door or burnout/this level of not doing well to step back and get back to basics for yourself. imho, you can stay there as long as you need since we all interact with the world differently, and so, we all have varying needs, and those needs shift. sometimes, for a long while, you'll need to stick to being minimal in one area of life to create a sense of peace and balance for yourself in areas that matter more, at that time, and then reverse areas at another point in life. it's alright to just need to do what you need to in order to feel the best you can in life. it's kind of your only real job for yourself because it is YOUR life, after all. and no, that's NOT being selfish, because i hate when people i know take this time that their bodies, minds, and souls are crying out for them to only to frame it in "it's okay to be selfish". taking care of yourself (even if your support needs at the moment, or even in general, long-term, are high) does NOT equate to being selfish AT ALL.

repeat instead the mantras like "i can't pour from an empty cup" and keep in mind that you DONT want to wait until your cups empty. in other words, you don't need to keep pouring just because you have something in your cup. it's okay to keep yourself for yourself. if you have the time and energy, it doesn't mean you need to give it, even if you have been doing maintenance for a while. let go of that guilt, shame, and obligation you feel for simply existing and living. you deserve to enjoy yourself too. you deserve to enjoy your own time and energy before giving it away (even if you want to, which i get is a hard middle ground to strike but in time you'll find it). it's much more enjoyable when you do it this way. try to think about it in the way of water, if you went around literally pouring your water into everyone's cup just because you have even a drop, you'd end up killing yourself because you're drinking nothing. even a little, even half a cup is still not enough. framing it in that way has helped me shed the internalized ablism I had for most of my life, being someone that needs to support myself by a lot of alone time, especially, made me vulnerable to people who socialize more shaping my own perception as negative towards my natural inclination. now that i've let go of this, and keep doing so, i find i actually want to socialize more and find it more energizing whenever i do. i even make it a priority now, instead of finding it to be a chore, as i once had. also, i rec socializing only in areas of interest when you're craving some but are low on energy and vibes to give.

hope this helps someone. <3

also, i think people will understand, and even if they don't, in time, you'll meet someone who does. give yourself that space and time you need so you don't burn yourself out on ones who don't, so you're not burnt out for the ones who come along and get you.

[louferrignojrofficial]

[BUT WHY THO: After he says he’s doing it for Chimney, he very quickly assures Buck he’s also doing it for him. How would you categorize where Buck and Tommy stand with each other at the moment?]

LOU FERRIGNO JR: But I get it. I understand. Well, I think Tommy’s trying to do a good deflecting at the top, but I think he’s coming to grips with the fact that he doesn’t need to put this shit on. I think historically, Tommy would just blow it off and just be like, “Whatever.” I don’t think he’s ever necessarily met someone that he’s been as enthralled by as he is with Buck. I think he finds him adorable, and I think he doesn’t know what he’s feeling, but he’s feeling something that’s really leveling him in the sense where he’s figuring things out as long as it’s taken.

Plus, it’s a workplace fraternization, so I can’t imagine that Tommy’s not thinking like, “What if that happened to Buck? What if it was Buck?” Tommy couldn’t have known what was happening to Bobby when he was dying. So when I was watching him or when Tommy was watching him, in my mind there’s a thought of… Not fear. At that moment, I think he was just so crushed. And it hurts when you see someone going through something that you love …

But it’s also, like, scared that this could be the guy that breaks him. There’s always that consideration. Because I don’t know how sure-footed Tommy really is as much as he appears to be. And then I don’t know the repercussions of what that would mean if that was his soulmate or his love of his life, and then something happened to him, or it’s… These are all calculations, I think, that Tommy would make, considering he’s a pilot and he has to think things through beforehand, and it’s just… Because he loves what he does, and it’s tough.

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

Everyone you gotta check out this amazing Chinese xianxia fantasy donghua Xian Ni仙逆 /Renegade Immortal 

The pacing is so good. I skipped the first few minutes (some big battle scene, but turns out it’s just backstory for the MC’s future master). Instead, I started when the protagonist, Wang Lin, is just a kid getting bullied in his village. His parents are forced to pay ‘protection money’ to local thugs, and if they can’t, their house gets trashed. Wang Lin's uncle secured him a chance to take the cultivation sect's trial—because if he succeeds, his family will finally be safe.

And then I was hooked. Binged it all weekend. It’s got 80+ episodes out now (rumored to end at 120+), and the writing is tight. The anime cut all the weird/illogical stuff from the original novel and fixed the OOC moments. Now the plot flows smoothly, the characters actually make sense, and the romance is pure (no harem thank you rare for a male-led xianxia adaptation).

That’s why it’s blowing up, everyone’s watching it, not just novel fans, all ages. If you like underdog stories with heart, give it a shot.

Another captivating aspect of this anime is Wang Lin’s strong personal integrity. In the ruthless world of cultivation, where stealing treasures and killing for profit are commonplace, Wang Lin refuses to follow the crowd. He has his own principles: To those who show him kindness, he remains deeply loyal—repaying even the smallest favor tenfold. To those who harm him, he doesn’t cower but retaliates decisively (no frustrating ‘doormat’ MC here).

He’s intelligent, level-headed, and humble—never abusing his power. His calm, unwavering demeanor makes it easy for viewers to empathize with and respect him.

One of his most iconic lines when he was young before he met Li Muwan perfectly sums up his philosophy: "In this life, I, Wang Lin, bow to neither heaven nor earth. I revere no gods or ghosts. The only ones I honor are my parents… and Situ (his master)."

Oh and the story’s really gripping, full of tight spots where the hero seems doomed, but he always finds a clever way out. He’s the quiet, ruthless type who follows his own rule: "I shall not offend unless offended; if provoked, I'll yield some ground. But cross me twice, and roots and all shall be undone." His bond with the love of his life (who’s sharp as a tack) is just so solid—they protect each other no matter what. Everyone watching ends up rooting for them. Wang Lin's love for his wife Li Muwan is really moving. Everything he does later is basically for her. (But I won't spoil too much).

The previous plot was already very exciting, and the "Mortal Enlightenment化凡" arc took it to another level, with even more gripping storytelling and nuanced emotions. The protagonist, in order to break through his mental barriers, lived an entire lifetime as an ordinary person, and the bond he formed with his neighbor, the blacksmith's family, was truly moving. However, the original novel's later stages suffered from character and plot breakdowns, which angered a large number of readers and led to a mass exodus. The main issue was the mishandling of the protagonist's romantic relationships, which deviated from the pure love tone established earlier (Chinese readers are particular about this—if you're writing pure love, stick to pure love; if you're writing a harem, make it clear from the start. Don’t market it as pure love only to later introduce ambiguous, harem-like elements, or even break up beloved couples. For example, Detective Conan faced backlash when the production team seemingly pushed a female side character in a movie, creating the impression of breaking up the iconic couple Shinichi and Ran. This sparked outrage among Chinese netizens, trending atop multiple platforms. The side character, Ai Haibara, was labeled a "homewrecker""green tea bitch" "and the producers are all "老登creepy old fart", and her reputation was ruined. The incident even drew responses from Shogakukan, the original author, and the movie producers. The author clarified it was the producers' idea, but by then, Haibara’s portrayal had completely fallen from grace in China, and the movie flopped there, anyway cnetizens are brutal when you get on their nerves like how they react to the whole kimsoohyun lol).

Now, the Renegade Immortal has reached over 80 episodes and seems to be following a pure love route, outright removing the harem elements that discomforted readers. However, there’s an upcoming plot point tied to a controversial storyline from the original novel that angered pure love fans. It’s tricky to cut entirely, so the scriptwriters will likely revise it. Many fans are demanding the director completely alter or remove this plotline. If the July-August episodes don’t address these changes, they’ve vowed to drop the show entirely. Cnetizens say "Just sticking around to watch the War of Heaven arc and the movie for WangLin×LiMuwan's sake, then I'm out. I'll check back when the Vermilion Bird Tomb arc drops, but if they follow the novel's icky vibes or keep toeing that line in the adaptation, I'm done for good. Ain't gonna force myself to watch something that pisses me off." Right now, the vast majority of fans are fiercely protective of Wang Lin and Li Muwan's love story (affectionately called 'Lin Wan' by shippers). They're cautiously optimistic, though honestly, many are already frustrated that Li Muwan hasn't gotten any updated character models or new outfits in over 70 episodes. If the Vermilion Bird Tomb arc follows the original novel’s mess? The backlash will be nuclear. #RenegadeImmortalDirector would trend within minutes.

Some viewers who've experienced both the novel and anime have pointed out that the original novel isn't actually among the best xianxia works - many plot points could even be considered poorly written. However, the anime adaptation has made remarkable improvements. While the novel's protagonist is essentially more of a villain - behaving like a demonic cultivator with outrageous actions - the anime's version has a much more appealing personality and moral compass. Fans hope the anime will maintain this improved characterization consistently. As for romance, it actually occupies very little of the overall story. But the Lin Wan-related arcs that have been adapted so far are genuinely moving and well-executed.

Anyway, so far, the Renegade Immortal 3D donghua(chinese 3D anime) has been absolutely fantastic, with plenty of episodes to binge. Highly recommend giving it a watch.

(video cr by 满世界种香菜)

[rafesbabygirlx]

Rafe loves to taste you

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

Any day, any time Rafe’s mouth is on you. He loves breathing in you in. Kissing you, licking you, biting you. You’re pretty sure your scent is half perfume, half his saliva.

It doesn’t matter if you’re sitting in his truck, in the middle of a party, or curled up in his bed while the rest of the house sleeps. Even out to eat, at some point he ends up on your side of the table face deep in the crook of your neck. He does it like he needs it to live. Like the second his lips aren’t on you, something inside him starts to unravel.

Tonight, it’s late. The island’s quiet, lit up by streetlights and the distant sound of waves. You’re both half-drunk on shitty beer and each other, sitting on the hood of his car in that field that faces the ocean he always drives to when he wants to escape. You’re mid-sentence, something dumb about one of your friends, you’re not even sure anymore, because he suddenly pulls you into his lap and begins nibbling on your earlobe. Swirling his tongue in every crevice of your ear.

You lose your train of thought at the feeling. It’s invigorating. It’s made you stop wearing earrings daily just at the hope he’ll do it. And he always does. His tongue trails down your neck leaving love bites on the back of your shoulder before moving back up where he reaches your mouth.

His hand slips around the back of your neck, thumb brushing against your jaw as he deepens it like he’s got a point to prove. You swear, with Rafe, there’s no such thing as a casual kiss. It’s always a hungry, possessive thing. Like he’s trying to brand the lines of his lips onto yours.

When he pulls back, just barely, his breath fans across your cheek and he whispers, “I love kissin’ you, you know that?”

You laugh, because yeah, you do know. He kisses you like it’s the one thing in his life that makes sense.

✧༺♥༻✧

His mouth moves rough and slow, then fast, then slow again, like he’s trying to mess with your head. His tongue licks into your mouth, deliberate and teasing, like he wants to taste every sound you’re trying to hold back. And then he bites your bottom lip, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp against him. That cocky little smirk spreads across his face before he drags his mouth down your neck again.

“You drive me insane,” he mutters between kisses, tongue tracing the spot he just bit, teeth grazing your skin like he’s deciding whether to mark you for real. “You know that, right?”

You arch against him as his hands slide under your shirt, palms hot, fingertips rough from weight lifting and fights and whatever else he gets into when you’re not around. But here? Like this? He’s focused on one thing only.

“I could kiss you all night,” he says, lips brushing your collarbone, voice low and raspy. “Lick you till you forget your name. Leave you covered in me.”

And the way he says it, like it’s a promise, not a threat, you know he means every word.

✧༺♥༻✧

His mouth drops to the tops of your breasts. He sucks on them roughly leaving a few bruises behind. You let out a moan, alerting him.

“You like when I do that?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper as he moves back in. His breath is warm, and when his tongue flicks over your skin there, you shiver, you can’t help it.

You nod, and that’s all the answer he needs. His laugh is low, cocky, but not mean. He’s proud of himself, proud of how easily he can unravel you.

“I could stay here forever,” he murmurs, tugging your shirt down a little more. “Just kissin’ and bitin’ and makin’ you squirm.”

His fingers press into your hips to keep you still, like he’s the one losing control, and you’re the only thing grounding him.

Then he pulls back, eyes locked on yours, lips shiny and swollen from everything he's just done to you.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he says again, almost like a confession. Then, softer, “But I’m not done with you yet.”

And you believe him because with Rafe, the heat never really dies down. It just simmers until the next spark.

tags <3

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @whydoesthemirrorhateme @currentresidentinhell @slut-4-rafey @akobx @rafesheaven @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @nemesyaaa

[jadeoxfordrose]

#honestly one thing i really like about matt murdock's catholic guilt as a superhero is how it compares to peter parker's jewish guilt#matt like. frequently engages in superherosim as a form of self-punishment#he gets the absolute SHIT kicked out of him#and he wears his bruises and his marks like saint fuckin sebastian#and there is a sense through so much of it like. gritted teeth and clenched fists#taking the punches and the blows#that there is a real sense for every life he doesn't save he has sinned and is sinning#and it obviously becomes more potent for him when he feels he's been backed into a sinful corner#or when he's having sex or lustful thoughts#or when he's been drinking or having Too Much Fun and relaxing too much#bc whenever he feels pleasure and something bad happens#his brain connects the two and says REPENTANCE!#and matt murdock's hail marys tend to involve not just attempting to resolve the problem but taking a lot of punches#meanwhile peter parker like. jewish guilt is a different flavour to catholic guilt#peter parker doesn't feel guilty after he makes a wry or sassy comment the way matt murdock does now and then#bc he worries it's what Caused a death - he wasn't taking it seriously enough he was provocative he was hubristic#peter parker runs his mouth off all day long and says the wrong thing 8 times out of 10 on a good day#but it's nothing to feel guilty about#and when he fucks up even when he hurts himself or fumbles a cool entrance or whatever else like. there's no guilt there either#but while he also feels horribly guilty whenever he feels he's caused a death it's less like#i have to punish myself - he absolutely does have those streaks for acute periods of time don't get me wrong#but it's far more. oh god. someone else has died#and whether it was my fault or not i have to do my best to make it good#because why else is it right that i've gone on surviving? what the fuck made me more worthy? nothing! so i have to make it good#so much of jewish guilt is like. this horrible knowledge and awareness of how much others have sacrificed for you.#knowingly or not. knowing YOU or not. how many people have died or suffered to make you and your life possible#and what are you doing to make all that worth it huh? what are you doing to carry that gift on? is it enough? is it ever enough?#it's just so interesting when you think of MM and PP in contrast to one another when like. they are in so many ways similar#often funny in their red costumes and w their acrobatics and with their aching tragedy and Big Feelings underneath the wry commentary#but the specific flavour of the man is so different. very chewy via @johannestevans

Been a really long time since I've watched Daredevil but I do remember coming away from it feeling like it presented a pretty compelling internally-consistent moral justification for the vigilante thing. You're not planet-crackingly powerful, it's just that you can hear, in detail, every awful thing your neighbors are doing to each other, every night that they're doing it. You can't not know and you can't pretend not to know and when the kid tells you the next day that he just fell down the stairs you can't fall back on the provided ambiguity to absolve yourself of your responsibility to act. Semi-relatedly, you're really really good at martial arts. Start the clock

[qivrae]

say it like you mean it - nsfw

spencer reid x afab!reader

a/n: fighting with spence ugh then you get breeded

The sound of the front door clicking shut sent a bolt of tension through your spine. You didn’t turn around right away—just stood by the kitchen sink, eyes fixed on the glass in your hand, watching the condensation trail down like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Anything to keep from looking at him.

Spencer’s keys hit the bowl by the door with a familiar clink. His bag landed on the counter a second later. And then silence. Heavy, expectant silence.

“You’re late,” you finally said, voice neutral. He exhaled. “I called.” You nodded once. “Yeah.” Still, you didn’t face him.

“I didn’t pick up because I was in the shower,” you added after a beat. “Figured if something happened to you, someone would’ve left a voicemail.”That made him pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was cautious but not soft. Tired, maybe. Defensive.

You turned then. Leaned back against the sink and looked at him for the first time that night. His hair was a mess, his tie halfway undone. His knuckles were raw. Your stomach turned. “It means,” you said slowly, “that I’m tired of playing this game where I pretend I’m not scared out of my fucking mind every time you walk out that door.”Spencer blinked. That he wasn’t expecting. “It was a raid,” he said like that explained everything. “There were risks, yes. But it was controlled. I had a vest on—”

“Oh, great,” you snapped. “A vest. That makes all the difference when some guy with a shotgun doesn’t give a shit where he aims.” He stepped closer, just one careful step. “You knew what I did when we got together.”

“Yeah. And I knew what war was when I read about it, but it’s a little different when you’re watching someone you love walk into it every goddamn day.” The words came out too fast, too raw. Spencer’s expression shifted like the ground beneath his feet tilted and he was struggling to stay upright. He swallowed. “I don’t want you to worry,” he said quietly. “Well, I do,” you said. “I can’t not.” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing now like the movement could help him make sense of it. “I don’t understand what you want from me. You think I want to be in danger? That I enjoy it?”

“No! I think you forget what it does to the people who have to sit at home and wait.” You moved toward him then, voice rising. “You come home late, bruised and bleeding and you downplay it. You act like it’s nothing. But you don’t see the way I flinch when you limp through the door. You don’t hear me crying in the shower after you fall asleep.” He stopped walking. “I didn’t know that,” he said. “Well, now you do.”

There was silence. The kind that burns in your throat and behind your eyes. And then softer, you whispered, “I don’t want to lose you.” Spencer’s head dropped. His hands clenched at his sides. You watched him breathe, slow and uneven.

“I’m sorry,” he said and for once, it didn’t sound automatic. It wasn’t a bandaid. It was an apology that cracked him open. “I didn’t realize you felt like this.” You wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “I try not to. Most of the time, I try really hard not to feel anything at all, because it’s easier than feeling like this.”

When you looked back up at him, his eyes were already on you. Soft, guilty, wrecked. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I don’t care,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re the one thing I think about when things get bad. The only thing that keeps me from falling apart out there.”

The air shifted. Warmer. Closer. You didn’t move away when he touched your face, just leaned into it, heart pounding so loud it drowned everything else out. “I don’t want to lose you either,” he whispered.

Your breath caught when his thumb brushed your cheek, eyes locked with yours like he wasn’t sure whether to kiss you or keep confessing. You didn’t give him the choice. You leaned forward, grabbed his face and kissed him like it would keep him here. Keep him alive. Keep him yours. And he kissed you back just as hard, just as fast, like he needed to feel everything you were saying without saying it. It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t sweet. It was a collision.

He groaned into your mouth, both hands sliding down your sides like he had to touch you to believe this was real. His fingers gripped your hips tight enough to bruise, grounding himself in the weight of you. You reached for his belt with shaking hands, fumbling with the buckle while he bit down softly on your bottom lip, kissed you again and again and again like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

When you finally got his belt undone, he exhaled sharply, like even that was too much. Like the relief of being wanted was overwhelming. “Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth, “you’re still wearing the hoodie.” You laughed against him, breathless. “You bought it for me.”

“I know,” he said dragging his hands under the hem, bunching it up around your ribs so he could touch bare skin. “That’s the problem. You wearing my clothes when you feel like you’re losing me? That’s mean.” You didn’t answer. You just kissed him again, tugged at the waistband of his pants. You were desperate to feel more. To feel all of him.

He lifted you onto the kitchen counter without warning, the edge digging into your thighs but you didn’t care. All you could feel was the heat of his body, the growing hardness pressing into your hip and the sound of his breathing getting heavier with every second. His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, your neck, biting the underside just hard enough to make your stomach tighten. You were so wet you could feel it and when his fingers slid under the band of your underwear and dipped between your legs, he groaned. His forehead falling against your shoulder. “God, baby,” he said. “You’re soaked.”

“Then do something about it.” He didn’t tease. Didn’t build up to it. Two fingers slid into you slowly, curling with that same pinpoint precision you always forgot about until he was inside you again. You gasped and grabbed at his shirt, nearly coming apart right there.“You’re always like this for me,” he murmured, lips dragging over your throat. “Even when we’re fighting. Even when you’re mad. Like your body knows.” You whimpered and he chuckled—low, rough, still hurt under all the lust.

“Yeah. That’s right.” You wrapped your legs around his waist, dragging him closer and he let out a breathless laugh, pulling his fingers out so he could shove his pants low enough to free himself. You tried to pull your underwear off completely but he grabbed your wrists, stopping you. “Leave them on,” he muttered. “Wanna fuck you with them still on. Pushed to the side. Want you messy for me.”

You moaned softly as he lined himself up, sliding inside with one smooth but unrelenting thrust. Your breath hitched, hands scrambling for anything to hold on to. He felt so deep, so full, you couldn’t think. “God, Spencer—”

“You feel that?” he rasped. “That stretch? That fullness? That’s mine.” He didn’t move for a moment. Just stayed buried inside you, gripping your waist like he was grounding himself in the feel of your body. “I almost lost this,” he whispered. “I thought I was losing you. You know what that did to me?”

Your throat tightened. “I love you,” you said, quiet and raw. He groaned and pulled out just enough to slam back in, making you cry out. “I know,” he hissed. “I know, baby.” Your fingers tangled in his curls, tugging until he gasped. His laugh was wild, right against your skin. Then he started to move. Hard and fast, a rhythm fueled by every fear and every feeling he didn’t know how to say out loud. The slap of skin, the wet sounds between you and the harsh breaths—you couldn’t hear anything else. Couldn’t think of anything else. He reached down and grabbed the backs of your thighs, lifting your hips slightly to hit even deeper and you nearly sobbed. “Shit—Spence—”

“That’s it,” he panted. “That’s my girl. So good for me.”

“Yours,” you whimpered. “Say it again.” And you did. You did until you couldn’t anymore, until you couldn’t think about anything but him. He kissed you, open-mouthed and messy. His thrusts getting faster, rougher, his voice breaking around the words, “I love you.” he pants, “No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to make you feel like this. Yeah?” you could barely respond, “Yes—yes—Spence, please—”

“You’re making such a mess on my cock, baby. You like it when I fuck you like this huh?” You were barely breathing. Your moans were punched out of you with every snap of his hips.“Gonna come,” you choked. “Yeah?” he said, grinning now. “Do it. Come for me. Come on my cock like you were made for it.” Your whole body clenched, legs locking around his waist as your orgasm hit, crashing through you like a wave. He didn’t stop. Rode it out, held you tight, eyes locked on yours as he fucked you through it.

The way your body locked up, thighs trembling around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders like you were trying to stay tethered to the earth. Your mouth opened in a silent moan at first, head falling back and Spencer watched, completely entranced as it bloomed across your face.

“Fuck,” he groaned, arms tightening around you, “fuck, baby. You look so pretty when you come.” Your walls clenched down around him, fluttering and tight. You were soaking him all over again as he kept fucking into you without pause. He wasn’t letting up. Not when you were this wet, this open for him. Not when your body was already responding again, too sensitive to handle the pace but still twitching like it wanted more. “Spence—” you whimpered, voice broken and caught in your throat. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he whispered, hips rolling a bit slower now. “You will. You’re gonna take all of it. Just like that.” His hands splayed against your lower back, anchoring you in place as he thrust slow, firm strokes that made your eyes roll back. “Still so tight,” he muttered, breath hitching as he felt your muscles fluttering again. “Even after you came all over my cock, you’re still gripping me like you need it. Is that it? Huh sweetheart? You need this?” You nodded, helpless. “Yeah,” he coo’d, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “My smart girl. My good fucking girl.”

You were barely coherent. Every thrust sent sparks down your spine, each one threatening to knock you over the edge again. Your legs had gone numb, your hands scrabbling for anything to hold but Spencer was there, keeping you steady, whispering the filthiest things into your ear while he fucked you slow and deep. “Gonna make you come again,” he murmured, lips dragging along your jaw. “Just like this. Gonna stay inside you until you’re soaked and shaking. Until you can’t think of anything but how good I make you feel.”

You whimpered, legs twitching again. The overstimulation was dizzying but your body wasn’t stopping. Not even close. “Please,” you whispered. “Spencer, I need you.”

“You have me,” he said, voice sharp and certain. “You have me, baby. Always.”Your head dropped to his shoulder as another wave built up in your stomach, slow and molten. Your breath stuttered. Your body started to tremble again, and Spencer felt it. “Yeah,” he whispered. “There she is. Look at you.” He pulled back just enough to watch your face, to see the way your brows scrunched, lips parted in a cry that never fully formed. He didn’t blink. “Come for me,” he said, low and rough. “I want to feel it. Right now.” And you did.

A second orgasm tore through you, twice as intense as the first. Your whole body jerking in his arms, cunt clenching so hard around him that he nearly lost it right there. You moaned his name, a soft broken sob against his neck and he held you through it, still moving, still whispering praise against your skin. “So good f’me,” he groaned. “That’s it. You’re so good. So perfect like this—messy and mine.” He didn’t stop.

Even as you trembled, even as you gasped for breath, he kept going. Fucking you through the aftershocks, keeping you full and stuffed and close. You could feel him starting to unravel, his rhythm faltering, breath catching, jaw clenched like he was holding back everything until you were ready to fall apart with him.

You felt it in the way he gripped your hips tighter. The way his voice dropped into something ragged, something helpless. “You want me to come inside you?” he asked breathlessly, brow pressed to yours. “You want me to fill you up?” You whimpered, barely a nod, barely a sound and his eyes darkened like it was the only answer he’d ever needed.

He couldn’t hold back anymore. Not after everything—your second orgasm still rippling through your body, slick dripping down his cock, your eyes glazed and dazed and stuck on him like he was the only thing tethering you to reality. You were wrecked and trembling and still letting him fuck you deep, whispering his name with every breath like it meant something holy. And to him, it did.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice shattering as he fucked up into you harder now, sloppier, chasing the edge that had been threatening to snap since you started pulsing around him. “I’m—shit, baby, I’m gonna come—” You whined into his shoulder, nails dragging down his back and that was it. Spencer’s hips stuttered, the rhythm falling apart entirely as he buried himself as deep as he could go, forehead pressed to yours. His whole body tensed—his breath caught—and then he came, hard and hot inside you. A broken groan tearing from his throat like he’d been holding it back for weeks. “Jesus,” he choked, his hands gripping your hips to keep you right where he needed you. “Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good—made to take it, I swear…”

You felt him pulse inside you, ropes of it filling you up. The warmth flooding through you in slow, overwhelming waves. Spencer kept moving through it—slow thrusts that pushed it deeper, that kept him grounded while the orgasm tore through him like a lightning strike.

“Shit,” he whispered again, like he couldn’t say anything else. His voice cracked on it. You reached up and held his face, brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead and he leaned into your touch like it was oxygen. He didn’t pull out, not yet. Just stayed there, still hard inside you and breathing like he’d just run for miles and finally found his way home.

“I love you,” he murmured against your mouth like a confession. “Even when we’re like this. Especially when we’re like this.” You nodded, still catching your breath. You felt ruined. You felt whole. And even though nothing was fixed yet, even though the fight still lingered somewhere in the background—you knew you’d be okay. Not just because he came back to you. But because he never really left.

[aptericia]

I've realized that a lot of people (not just on tumblr, but irl as well) don't really know how to respond, emotionally, to strangers asking for money. This is not anyone's fault, of course! I grew up in a densely populated city where I would encounter beggars every time I went out of the house, so it doesn't stress me out at all. A lot of people aren't as used to it though, so here are some tips to keep in mind:

Not donating to someone in need does not make you a bad person. Even if you can afford it, money/time/mood-wise.

Accidentally donating to a scammer also does not make you a bad person.

When it comes to giving individual strangers a few bucks, it's basically pointless to try to deduce their authenticity. If you try, you are probably either a) relying on "vibes"/"common sense" which is extremely prone to emotional whims, demographic-based bias, etc. or b) spending WAY too much time on research.

Many beggars will make you uncomfortable. They will be mentally ill, or bigoted, or they'll say "God bless you" to people who don't believe in God, or they'll lie/exaggerate to garner more sympathy. This doesn't mean they aren't deserving of help, but it may mean that you can't/don't personally help them. Both things are true.

Related to the above: scroll past, block those accounts, filter those tags, avoid those streets, kindly interrupt that person and walk off.

If dealing with individuals is too stressful, you can always donate to trusted organizations instead! These are easier to research and may be more efficient. You can also volunteer for these!

Others aren't necessarily gullible because they choose to donate. Others aren't necessarily uncaring because they choose not to donate. Don't judge, especially if it's not someone you know.

Please don't spread unproven "facts" about individuals just to make others agree with your choice. Again, see the first three bullet points.

In short, your approach to donation should be based off YOU, your values and lifestyle, not the person you're donating to... because you know a lot more about yourself than them! If something makes you feel good or gives you energy/incentive to create positive change, then do it! If it makes you anxious, ashamed, or burnt out, then don't do it!

It may seem like a big deal when people ask for money because it probably is a big deal to them, and they will act accordingly! But the reality is, you and I can't afford that much emotional investment to every stranger on the planet. Individual donations are one of many, many different needs in our society, and having a massive moral dilemma over them every time is not healthy✌️

[the-original-skipps]

|| When You Reject Their Confession. || Blue Lock Reactions ||

i really do like my angst so might as well im super open if anyone has any suggestions on what you wanna see them react to next also really sorry about chigiri's part im not 100 percent happy with how i wrote it

cw: angst. heartbreak. resentment/hate. self deprecation in nagi's part. overall sad vibes.

Isagi Yoichi. Bachira Meguru. Chigiri Hyoma. Nagi Seishiro. Itoshi Rin. Itoshi Sae.

"I'm sorry but I can't return your feelings."

❥ Isagi could feel his heart shattering on the spot. Feeling as if something is pulling him down underwater. His chest feels tight, it feels hard to breathe. You probably saw how his face fell at your words. How embarrassing. Isagi does his best to rise to the surface as he pushes this undeniable pain aside to reassure you. Even when you dealt a heavy blow to him, seeing you look so guilty and worried for him still brings him pain too.

Very fiber of his being is resisting his command to smile. To put on a reassuring smile that could wipe off that sad look off your face. Oh, what you said earlier? It's fine, don't worry about it. It can't be helped if you don't return his feelings. It doesn't bother him! It does. He wants nothing more to sink into the depths again but for now he has to bring back your smile.

"I-It's okay, I'm fine! I'm fine..."

❥ Bachira's immediate reaction is to burst into laughter. Good one, you got him good! He tells you as he calms down from his fit of laughter. Only when you don't laugh along does the truth slowly settle within him. He feels his stomach drop. Oh, you meant it.

Bachira feels as if a tidal wave had swallowed him whole, he sees your mouth moving but he can't hear the words you're saying. Everything just feels so numb. He puts on a smile, brushing off your apologies - telling you that it's alright. Even when you turn around and leave he finds himself rooted to the spot. His hand that was previously waving you goodbye suspended in the air. Only when he's sure you're no longer within earshot do the tears start to flow.

"I guess we're better off alone, huh?"

❥ Chigiri is quick to put on a small smile. He can sense that you feel incredibly guilty for rejecting him. You should, you should feel guilty a voice in his mind nags him. The red head does his best to push those thoughts away. He feels the urge to twirl a stand of his hair, a nervous habit of his but he resists. He doesn't want to show any kind of weakness in front of you.

He teases you that you'd get wrinkles with how hard you're frowning. That is what he tells himself to keep himself from frowning too. Chigiri does his best to act like his usual self. Biting his tongue back from the sarcasm that threatens to leave his lips. Bitter. It all just tastes so bitter. He'll put up with it just until you leave.

"Smile, that look on your face doesn't suit you."

❥ Nagi just stands still for a moment staring at you blankly. He just remains silent to he point it's making you nervous until you see him nodding slowly. As if he's just now comprehending your words. Nagi doesn't say much afterwards, only replying with a few words as he normally does. It's as if the earlier situation didn't happen at all.

Everything just feels numb, there's a ringing in his ear but he chooses to ignore it. He casually waves goodbye and only when you're out of sight does his arm lifelessly drop. Of course, you'd reject him. He's nothing more than lazy scum who barely manages to take care of himself. You probably see him as nothing more than a nuisance. It's nothing new. He should be used to it by now. Nagi finds himself letting out a sigh.

"What a hassle."

❥ Rin looks unbothered by your words. However, if you look closer you would have noticed the twitch of his eye. His lips curling into a deeper frown. His hands itching to be clenched into fists but he holds himself back. Rin could burn a hole through you with how hard he's staring at you. He doesn't say anything else, wanting you to hurry up and disappear from his sight.

Only when he knows you're gone, does he run a hand through his hair in exasperation. Wanting nothing more right now than to kick a soccer ball far far away. Hoping that these awful feelings would disappear along with it. It was stupid idea to begin with. One that reminds him of the naivety of his past self he never wants to be again. Dammit. Curse you, for making him feel this way.

It's all your fault.

"Damn this...!"

❥ Sae doesn't even bat an eyelash. A blank expression on his face even when you apologize to him. He retains the picture of calm and collected as if you've just told him that the weather today is nice. Sae doesn't say anything, only responding with a single "okay". Following it up by announcing that he's leaving. He's done what he's come here to do - there's no reason to stay any longer than necessary.

With each step he takes walking away from you, he feels his heart getting heavier and heavier. He looks unbothered but in his mind, all that he could think about are your words - repeating over and over again. Briefly wondering if the outcome could have been different, if he had done something else. He's quick to dismiss the thought. It's weak and unpleasant. Sae doesn't want to admit that it bothers him way more than it should.

"What a waste of time."

[amalg-em]

Okay, I think there is, though.

Let me explain it this way: having children is a thing people do sometimes, that some people find rewarding/enriching. It's not for everyone, but neither is, say, running an animal shelter, or traveling all over for rock climbing, or working the night shift. However, like all those things, if someone wants to do it and can do it responsibly, they should be allowed to.

If reproducing/raising children is a behavior that some humans seek out for enrichment, then there should be an available outlet for them to do so. Yes, less people are having children now, and largely that's people who wouldn't want to have children anyway - but it also includes people like me, who WOULD like to have children, but are prevented from doing so.

You can't just look at the statistic "people are doing x thing less." You also have to check whether people are WANTING to do the thing. And, in this case, many of us do! I would love to be able to help support & shape the next generation of humans. I have valuable wisdom and experience to pass down and I enjoy working with children, so I would be an attentive and enthusiastic parent.

However, I also grew up in a toxic and sometimes abusive home, and I've seen the factors that contribute to that: isolation, poverty, fundamentalist religion, untreated/unmanaged trauma and health issues, etc. Most of these factors are present in my life, meaning that it would be unwise for me to have kids, or at least not until the issues are mitigated.

All of the factors I listed aren't unique to me - trauma is common, doctors not taking chronic illnesses seriously is common, isolation is common, poverty is common. There's also current or impeding climate disaster, spreading global fascism, and uncontrolled capitalism. All of these things are going to make it less likely for people to want to have children, even if they would otherwise, because they rightfully don't want to bring a tiny, helpless, fragile new person into a horrible situation.

My point is, looking at the data that shows people aren't having kids is useful if you're following it up with the question, "WHY aren't people having children?" Because if something is a normal human behavior that a certain percentage of people will want to engage in, but they're not doing it, that's a potential indicator that society has broken down somewhere and people aren't getting their needs met. And this is factually true in this case.

From what I've read, many people have concerns like mine, where they don't want to bring a child into a bad situation. Also, lot of research that polls people of reproductive age comes up with the answers "It takes too much time" and "it costs too much money." And these, too, are red flags for society not functioning as it should be. Does it really make sense to dump the entire childrearing process onto one or two people? Especially when that's not the only option, and communal childrearing has been the norm in other places and times? If children are the future and necessary for the continuation of society, doesn't it make more sense that the entire community should be pitching in to help raise children, both monetarily and otherwise? Why DO we make things so expensive for parents? Why does every parent have to spend so much money buying new baby gear, new clothes, new shoes, etc for every child? Why are parents saddled with exorbitant daycare costs when it's in the vested interest of an entire community that it's next generation reach adulthood successfully? (The answer to nearly every one of these questions is capitalism, BTW. Exhausted and isolated people spend more money and are easier to exploit.)

"you shouldn't care about x" isn't really a useful sentiment. We can get all kinds of information about what's going on in the world humans have created and how to fix it by looking at data like this and asking questions. That's the entire basis for critical thinking, in fact; asking questions like: what is happening, why is it happening, what are the mechanisms driving it, who benefits from it, who suffers, etc. "There is no progressive way to care about this topic" is just as reactionary and counterproductive as "Oh No, Women are become Actual People instead of Baby Factories, This Will Detroy Society"

Sorry not sorry but there's no "liberal" way to care about collective fertility rates

[coryndoll]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter six, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, day of the games, fast-paced on purpose, anxiety, brief fighting, blood, im giggling im ahead on like 3 parts for this im so excited

main masterlist | tag list | previous

brutus opens rafe’s door first.

it creaks softly on its hinges as he peeks his head in. the room is dim, the curtains still drawn, morning light barely pushing through the edges. the bed is made, mostly. a corner of the blanket looks slept in, like someone might’ve laid down for a moment, but there’s no sign of rafe anywhere.

brutus squints, leans slightly into the room without stepping over the threshold. his eyes scan once, slow. maybe rafe woke up early. or jeez, maybe he’s one of the tributes who don’t sleep at all before the games.

he doesn’t linger. he closes the door gently behind him and turns toward the next one, knocks once against the wood of your door, then opens it.

you’re still in bed on one side, tucked beneath the blanket, one hand peeking out near your face, eyes closed, lips parted just slightly. you’re sleeping peacefully.

but rafe’s there too. not under the blanket, but there, on the other side of the bed, laying on his side, turned away from you, arms tucked under the pillow that doesn’t belong to him. he’s not close, not really, keeping the distance that made sense last night. still, it’s enough to make brutus stop in the doorway.

he plants his feet a little more firmly and furrows his brow. “rafe. y/n.” his voice is loud enough to cut through the quiet, “‘s time to wake up.”

you stir first, barely. your head shifts, brows twitching before you let out a tiny groan and pull the blanket higher over your chest, still clinging to sleep.

brutus steps in a little more, “did you guys go to sleep late?”

you mumble, half-asleep. “mm-mm.” you push up on your elbows, rubbing your eye with the heel of your palm. “we went to sleep at a reasonable time, stop worrying so much.”

he doesn’t answer, just flicks his eyes over to rafe, who hasn’t moved. there’s a look brutus gives you, one that doesn’t need any words. it’s the look of a man too old to be bothering with teenagers who can’t get up on time, even on the day of their death sentence.

you nod at him wordlessly, so he leaves.

you turn your head toward rafe. his back is still to you. you don’t say anything, but you grab the pillow from behind you, lift it, and slam it straight into his shoulder before tossing it behind you like nothing happened.

he jolts awake with a full-body flinch. there’s this moment where he looks like he forgot where he is, eyes wide, chest rising like he’s holding his breath, and then it all sinks back into him. his jaw tightens slightly as he exhales through his nose, one arm reaching to rub his face.

you sit up a little more as he props himself up on his elbow. neither of you say anything at first.

outside, you can already hear the prep teams chattering. it’s muffled, but the voices are clear enough to know they’re waiting, probably for the avoxes to finish setting up breakfast.

you glance at rafe. he still hasn’t looked at you. you don’t say anything. at least not yet. but there’s a knot forming in your stomach again. not panic, not nerves, not yet. just time catching up.

today’s the day.

you try to eat later that morning, like you actually try. a decent portion, even. toast, some fruit, a bite of eggs. you hope you’re able to trick your brain into thinking it’s just a normal morning. you chew, you swallow, and you try not to look across the table, but you do.

rafe’s barely touched anything. one hand holding his fork like he’s thinking about using it but never follows through. he moves some of the food around like it’s a distraction, like that might be enough to convince brutus or enobaria he’s trying. but it’s not.

you kick his foot. not hard, just enough for him to blink up and meet your eyes. his posture straightens slightly. he gets the message to lock in.

there’s chatter at the table. enobaria’s going over logistics again, brutus is talking about someone he mentored once who didn’t even make it past the bloodbath, but no one’s really listening. not fully.

you think the only reason some of them seem calm is because they’ve done this before. they’ve already learned how to live with the kind of silence that comes with death you can’t stop. and the rest? they’re quiet in the way strangers are quiet around people they don’t care enough to know.

some of them didn’t actually try with you two. at least just not fully. and maybe that was on purpose. maybe it’ll be easier for them if you die in a few days. maybe it won’t ruin their appetite.

the thought makes yours vanish completely. you set your fork down.

after breakfast, you try to slip away before anyone says anything else. there’s still time. and if there’s still time, you want to use it, even if you’re doing nothing, just thinking.

you’re back in your room, alone for maybe three minutes before valis comes in. her face is flushed, eyes red like she’s been holding something in since yesterday, or maybe longer. she doesn’t say anything. neither do you.

you just stare at each other. she stands in the doorway while you still sit on the edge of your bed like you might lie back down. you both know she didn’t come here to talk. the prep team’s hovering outside the door, so you stand up.

you let them in, let them do what they need to do. it’s their job, you get it. you expect nothing less, and honestly, nothing more.

they dress you quietly. no capitol flair, no shimmering fabric or face paint. this isn’t for show. they put you in tawny trousers, a light green shirt. there’s a brown belt wrapped snugly at your waist, a black hooded jacket falling to your thighs, heat-reflective, they tell you. for the cold nights. the boots are soft leather. they’re flexible, built for running, you guess.

they don’t touch your face, but they part your hair into two neat braids, elastic bands wrapped around the ends.

when you leave the room, rafe’s already out in the living room. he looks like he hasn’t blinked in a while. you nod once. he falls into step beside you. and that’s it.

you both walk to the elevator, down to the lobby. there’s a train there to take you. you step inside and ride along the tracks for half an hour, before you’re greeted with some spot for the hovercraft that will take you to the arena, you’re assuming. and when you’re there, the doors open like they’ve been waiting just for you guys.

other tributes are already climbing in. no assigned seating, just first-come, first-pick.

you sit and lean your head back against the cold surface of the seat.

a woman walks up to you. she doesn’t say much, but she takes your arm, rolls up your sleeve, and injects the tracker into your skin like she’s done it a hundred times. probably has. you don’t even flinch. you just hold your arm and stare up at the ceiling, no expression, no reaction.

you hear the others getting theirs. some whimper. some curse. one girl asks if it’ll hurt.

eventually, the woman and the rest of the capitol staff leave the hovercraft. they step off without looking back. the doors seal.

the room shifts slightly as they prepare for lift-off. someone comes by to strap the harness into your chest, clipping it into the seat, making sure you won’t move when they’re in the air.

you glance at rafe across the way. his jaw’s clenched. and you watch everyone.

the hovercraft is either slower than you thought it’d be, or the arena is just really far. either way, it’s been a while.

a girl two seats down starts breathing through her mouth a little too loudly. a boy across from that girl is swallowing every few seconds like it’ll stop whatever’s climbing up his throat. someone next to you coughs into their sleeve like it might hide the fact that they’re dry heaving.

you imagine a few are one second away from throwing up. a dangerous mix: motion sickness and absolute terror.

you shift your eyes, catching a kid near the back who clutches their seatbelt like it’s the only thing keeping them alive. they lean forward once, gag, and you swear they might—

but then the hovercraft lands.

it’s too fast. it hits the ground with a thud that shakes your bones, and the weight of everything slams back into place.

you tug on your restraints immediately. not frantic, just fast. just needing to move. you are not gonna be here if that kid throws up. your eyes flick back to him, still watching.

the doors slide open with a hiss and a gust of cold air enters the space. someone steps in. they don’t say much, just enough. they say just to stay in a line, single file, don’t talk, follow directions. everyone unclips their harnesses and rises on shaky legs. you do the same. and then you notice you’re underground. at least, that’s what it looks like.

the hovercraft’s parked inside some hollowed-out space. it’s not bright, not sterile or high-tech like you imagined. no glaring capitol lights or pristine white walls. it’s dull and dim, and most of the space is rock, smooth stone, compacted dirt.

you follow the others into the large hallway ahead, boots echoing against the ground.

rafe finds you in the shuffle. no words, just his shoulder brushing yours, his steps falling into rhythm with yours like he planned it. it’s only a second, just one glance exchanged, and then someone’s calling out names. you’re separated.

you watch as he’s directed to one hallway. his head turns just slightly in your direction like he’s trying to keep you in his line of sight, but someone’s already ushering you forward.

your name echoes down the corridor, and you hold your head high, even if your chest is collapsing. you don’t say goodbye to him. it’s not a goodbye yet, so you walk.

you and another tribute, some kid you don’t recognize, peel off in the same direction. the hallway is long, the ceiling low. you reach a door that reads your name on some changeable slot. this is for you.

it opens. the room is bare, just a single table, and the platform connected to the tube. it’s right there, just standing in the middle of the room like it’s nothing. like you’re not supposed to step into that thing and let it close around you like a casket.

this is how they do it.

your stomach churns, and for a split second, you hope your arm gets caught if you go in there. you hope you trip. you just hope something snaps, something bleeds out. maybe you just die fast. maybe you don’t have to go.

shut up.

you can’t think like that.

stop being stupid.

the door creaks behind you, and you turn to see enobaria. she leans against the frame and looks at you like this isn’t new. but for you, it’s the end of the world.

you sigh, soft and low, then walk straight toward her. you don’t even wait for words. you just step into her space and wrap your arms around her, tight. and it’s brief, she doesn’t exactly hold you back, but she doesn’t push you away either.

maybe she’s one of those people too. maybe it’s better if she doesn’t get attached.

you step back, brush your palms against your thighs. enobaria doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t comment on the hug or the look on your face. she just starts talking strategy.

long story short, it’s just to watch your back. you need to look for signs in the environment, small changes. don’t trust clear water. don’t trust silence. don’t trust the easy route.

she doesn’t know what the arena looks like either, but on the outside, she and brutus have been working hard apparently, networking, pulling strings, keeping eyes on you and rafe. your names are floating around. sponsors are watching.

she says if you keep playing your cards right, playing them right, you might be able to get something special this year if you need it.

and you just nod through all of it, trying to absorb everything.

enobaria glances toward the hallway. “brutus is in rafe’s room,” she tells you. “other side of the facility. he said to tell you . . .” she pauses like she’s thinking of how to phrase it. “he’s proud of you.”

your lips twitch. it’s barely a smile. you’re not really in the mood for kind gestures. not now. but it still means something. you’d still hug brutus and thank him if he was here.

an alarm sounds from the ceiling. it alerts all mentors to have one final moment with their tribute, it’s time.

enobaria walks with you to the platform. she gives you some last advice, last reminders, no hesitation. “they’re not your friends,” she says. “not in there.”

you nod.

“do what you have to.”

you nod again as you step into the tube. you don’t look away from her. not once.

her words keep coming, even as the glass door begins to close. it seals with a mechanical hum, and suddenly, silence. you can’t hear her anymore, but you can see her.

her mouth stops moving. her eyes soften, just slightly, and then she nods once, firm and slow.

“win.”

you read her lips, and you nod back. you have to win, for yourself, for your district, for your family, for someone else’s sake. you have to do this right.

you have the skill, you have allies. you have a chance. you can’t let anything go wrong. and at the same time, you have to make it look good for the cameras and all of panem, but most important for the capitol, and president snow.

your stomach tightens. and then, the platform moves.

you feel it in your ankles first. it’s a low rumble under your feet, then a slow, steady rise. you can’t see enobaria once you’ve reached past ceiling height. you tilt your head back, watching the tube ascend through the darkness. at some point you can’t tell how far, can’t see the walls anymore.

then there’s light, bright enough to sting your eyes. you squint as the top of the tube opens, the final mechanical clink echoing inside your skull, and then you're rising above the surface.

the platform locks beneath your feet, half a foot of space from the ground it looks like. you blink the light out of your eyes, and then you look. you look at everything.

it looks like a valley. it’s lush, green, almost deceptively peaceful. it’s nestled between towering cliffs, mountains curving jagged in the far distance like broken teeth. you can tell just by looking: they’re not meant to be climbed. they’re walls. you’re boxed in.

but gods, it’s beautiful.

meadows stretch across the land in soft, sweeping waves, dotted with wildflowers that sway gently in the breeze. the sky overhead is clear, blue, impossibly bright. the kind of sky that feels like a lie.

everything here is gentle, quiet, until it won’t be. you’re sure.

you see the lake next, off to the west. it’s wide, reflecting the blue sky like glass. east, there’s the forest. mostly just birch trees, thin and pale like bone. you can see through them. they barely cast a shadow. and then south, the cliffs. they’re uneven, overgrown with tangled green and dark moss, shadows curling in every crack. there are caves, hidden or not-so-hidden, tucked into the rock.

you already know it’s dangerous over there, but it might have the best cover already. you could disappear there. you might have to.

but right now, straight ahead, the cornucopia.

it’s metallic, massive, curved like a horn, jaws split open and offering death like it’s a gift. it’s the centerpiece. everything spirals out from there.

you’re fifty feet out, so is everyone else. you take stock quickly. to your left is someone tall. maybe district six. to your right is someone shorter, lean, face tight with nerves. no threat. not yet.

around the cornucopia, you spot familiar shapes. you see kie, jj. topper, all in different spots. your eyes narrow. you don’t see rafe. not yet. he must be on the opposite end, but it doesn’t matter. you need to focus.

your eyes flick back to the cornucopia, scanning. where are the daggers?

there, on the right side. close, but not too close.

backpacks?

one maybe fifteen feet from you, pale green. medium size. might be worth it. might be a death sentence, but you’re good for it.

above the cornucopia, you see the clock. it’s the countdown. it’s already started by the time you rose from the tube, from sixty, maybe. it’s only at twenty-nine now. time is moving faster than you’d like.

your palms are slick with sweat, and you feel sick, but you don’t show it. you don’t move. cameras are on. this moment is already broadcasting to every corner of panem. they’re probably watching your face, watching your choices, cheering you on, betting on you. so you stay still.

eventually it hits five seconds.

you exhale, slow and even. your knees are bent just slightly, eyes on the cornucopia, the bag, the daggers.

four.

your heartbeat isn’t just in your chest. it’s in your ears, your teeth, your throat. it’s loud. someone sniffles. someone else whispers a prayer. your jaw locks. no prayers. no mercy.

three.

you can almost feel the cameras now, fixed on your face, your hands, your stance. they’re watching to see what kind of girl you are. and you’ll show them.

two.

your fingers twitch. every part of you is humming with readiness. it’s fight or flight. and right now, it’s both.

one.

go.

you explode off the platform, sprinting, flying, feet barely hitting the ground. others burst forward around you, but you’re faster. you have to be.

your fingers snatch a backpack off the ground mid-run. it’s a blur and you don’t even slow down.

the cornucopia swallows you in its shadow. inside, it’s colder. you spot the daggers, three of them, strapped to a wall near the curve. you snatch them fast, greedy, grip tight. your eyes are everywhere. every second counts.

then, there. a mace, sitting all pretty on a metal table like a gift with your name on it.

rafe.

you grab it, one hand around the handle, the other arm curled around the daggers. you ignore the weight and the tremor in your legs. you just move.

you burst out of the cornucopia again, flying through the chaos, and there’s a girl. she’s younger, smaller. she’s got a backpack in her hand, panic stamped across her face. your eyes lock, but hers go wide, and she runs.

you shift your grip, shove all the daggers into one arm with the mace, and yank a single blade into your throwing hand.

you don’t hesitate. you throw.

thunk! dagger lands deep into her shoulder. she cries out, stumbles, falls to her knees.

she’s not dead, not yet. your eyes flick across the field, looking for kie, for jj, for rafe, but there’s nothing. it’s just you and this girl for right now, so you run.

your legs eat the distance like fire across dry grass. the girl’s scrambling, clutching at the dirt with her good arm, trying to crawl away, but you’re already on her.

you toss the mace and your daggers to the side, just somewhere close enough. you’ll get them in a second.

your boot lands between her shoulder blades, pressing her down, pinning her. her scream is raw and ugly, but it doesn’t stop you, so you reach down, fingers wrapping around the dagger lodged in her shoulder, and pull.

it comes out with a slick, wet sound. she shrieks. your grip tightens on the hilt. your breath catches, just for a second, then you shove that feeling down, far down.

you grab a fistful of her hair, yank her head back hard. she chokes, still sobbing.

“sorry,” you whisper, maybe for her, maybe for yourself. then you drag the blade across her throat in one clean, fast motion.

blood spills hot and quick. it’s thick and dark. you’ve never seen this much before, but she gurgles, twitches. her hands scrabble at nothing. you let her go.

her body hits the ground with a dull, final thud. you crouch beside her just long enough to wipe your blade on the grass, then move fast, no time to mourn.

you grab your daggers, shove them into the outer pocket of the backpack for easy access, and your fingers wrap around the mace again, grounding you. it’s heavy, but threatening. maybe if people see you coming with it, they’ll honestly just run. you won’t have to shed too much blood, so you follow through and try not to make it look like it’s too heavy for you.

you rise and scan the field. your eyes flick from tree line to rock to corpse to blur of movement.

where is he?

where’s rafe?

you tighten your grip on the mace. you just have to find him before anyone else does. and eventually, you do see him.

the field’s cleared out, mostly. a few bodies lie motionless, others are just gone, fled into the trees or caves, the ones who didn’t want blood on their hands this early.

you’ve learned to tune out the screams, even the wet, final ones. you didn’t think you could.

someone’s on top of another tribute, driving blow after blow into their face, knuckles slick and fast. it’s him.

your heart jumps, and before you even register it, your legs are moving, sprinting again.

he doesn’t even have a weapon, just fists and fury. but then something clicks for him. he glances to the side, sees something nearby, and grabs it. it looks like a sickle. you can’t tell from how much you’re moving.

without missing a beat, he swings it, brutal and clean. it slices through the air, and lands. another cannon sounds, echoing through the arena.

“rafe!” you yell, desperate, maybe too loud. he looks up, disoriented. you think he hears you.

and that’s when a fucking spear slices the air past your head.

you freeze, breath caught in your throat, head snapping toward where it came from. a boy is still lingering near the cornucopia. you don’t recognize him.

he's already winding up to throw something else again, but he never gets the chance.

another spear, this one from behind, bursts through his chest. he gasps, looks down. there’s this split second of horrified disbelief on his face before he drops limp. a cannon booms.

standing behind him, breathing a little heavy but calm, is jj. he pulls the spear out of the boy’s chest like it’s nothing. he doesn’t say a word, just meets your eyes and nods. you nod back. small, but grateful.

then you’re running again. your lungs are burning, your legs aching, but you don’t stop until you reach rafe.

he’s rolling off the boy he just killed, chest rising and falling fast, shirt spattered in blood. you slow, reach for the mace, almost like a gift, and hold it out to him.

he doesn’t even see it at first, too focused on catching his breath. but then his eyes flick to it, and the corner of his mouth pulls up just a little.

“seriously?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“take it,” you say, firm. like you’ll take it back if he doesn’t, even though you won’t. you don’t even use maces. but obviously he could.

he finally grabs it, heavy in his hand. it suits him. he stands, still breathing hard, but more solid on his feet now.

you glance around. jj’s already heading toward topper, the two moving quick. kie even appears not far behind, eyes scanning every shadow the cornucopia still casts. she must’ve been inside to grab everything she needs to since everyone else is gone. no threats here anymore, all probably in the caves or forest by now.

you catch jj and topper’s eyes and nod once toward the east, toward said birch forest. it’s like a subtle signal to say let’s start moving, find camp, see who else is left.

they understand. they start jogging.

you look to rafe again. both of you covered in blood, bits of dirt and sweat smudged across your skin. you raise your hand, shielding your eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, and give him a look. but it’s a quiet one.

like, ‘we made it through the first part.’

‘we did good.’

and maybe even, ‘please don’t die.’

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp